


Mockingbird Nights

by shuofthewind



Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - Neil Gaiman, ParaNorman (2012), The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Drabble, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, plot?, what plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/pseuds/shuofthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dear Coraline and Norman,</em>
</p><p>  <em>Please note that there may or may not be a ghost in this house. There also may or may not be zombies, werewolves, succubi, spirits of an ancient and/or malevolent sort, or some other figure from local folklore that I have conveniently forgotten to tell you about. </em></p><p>  <em>If you die, I will be sure to put you in a proper graveyard.</em></p><p>  <em>Regards,</em><br/><em>Bod</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mockingbird Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Will I continue this? I have no idea.
> 
> Was it fun? _Hell yes._
> 
> Obviously this is set like...years after their respective storylines. I think they're in their twenties, maybe. /shrugs

He's almost done with the case write-ups from last week when Coraline sidles into the main office.

“Bod sent me something,” she says, and waves a printed email at him. “We’re going to Georgia.”

Norman blinks. “Georgia? What’s Bod doing in Georgia?”

“Who knows.” She has that look on her face again, the bloodhound look, like she has a scent in her nose and she’s not going to stop until she’s chased it down. Coraline perches on the end of his desk, plonks her feet on his thigh, and gives him the paper. It’s a collection of missing person reports (Norman _does not_ want to know how Bod found them). A family, gone from their house. Car still in the driveway, food still on the table. Just…gone.

Coraline scoots closer to him. “So? What do you think?”

“I’m not gonna say it’s aliens,” says Norman. “But it’s aliens.”

“Yeah, sure, Mulder, thanks for the tip.” She nudges him hard with her toes. “What do you _really_ think, Norman?”

“I think that Bod needs to remember to add pertinent details to these mystery articles of his.” He puts on a posh British accent. “ _Dear Coraline and Norman, please note that there may or may not be a ghost in the abandoned house I am sending your way. There also may or may not be a faerie, zombies, vampires, werewolves, spirits of ancient and malevolent power, a god, or some other figure from local folklore and/or legends that I have conveniently forgotten to mention. Please be sure to contact me when you die so I can put you into a proper graveyard._ ”

“C’mon, Babcock.” Coraline slips off the desk and drops hard into his lap, tossing her legs negligently sideways. She hooks her arm around the back of his neck and sets the tip of her cold nose just behind his ear. “That’s the best part.”

“Hm.” He rubs the underside of his jaw, thoughtfully. “Hey, if I die, as a ghost-speaker, does that mean I can talk to the living? If I’m dead, and stay behind. Y’know?”

Coraline frowns. “Ugh. Don’t say things like that. It makes me go wishy-washy and I hate it.”

“But I could haunt the office!” He deepens his voice, just slightly. “Coraline, stop putting the staples into the rubber band drawer. I will spill your coffee if you do it again.”

She snorts in spite of herself, and sighs into the crook of his neck. The puff of warm air against his skin makes his neck prickle pleasantly.

“You’re not allowed to die, you know,” she tells him all of a sudden, and her arm tightens around his neck. “Even if you _could_ come back. It’s unacceptable.”

Norman knocks his head against hers, gently, and laces their fingers together on his shoulder. Coraline sighs a little. He can't promise her that anymore than she can promise him, but they can at least try. It's all anyone can do. 

"We're going to Macon, though," she says. "Right?"

Norman sighs. "You book the tickets. I'll tell Neil." 


End file.
